


Little Broken Lives

by sticksandinfinitystones



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: AU, Angst, Father-Son Relationship, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter was never recruited for civil war, Promise, Tony isn't as bad as Peter thinks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-14 13:43:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13009065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sticksandinfinitystones/pseuds/sticksandinfinitystones
Summary: When Peter Parker was six years old, his parents were killed when their Stark jet went down. When Peter Parker was seven years old, his aunt and uncle were killed at the Stark Expo.Now fifteen, Peter Parker is given the once in a lifetime opportunity to intern under the man that single handedly caused his entire world to fall apart. Meanwhile, his vigilante alter-ego is being pursued by the very same individual.After eight long years of grief and hatred, will Peter finally know if the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist has any regard for all the little broken lives he caused?





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, guess who had this idea come to them whilst they were supposed to be writing an essay? Smh, why does inspiration always strike at the worst time?  
> A few names in this story might be familiar to some if you are familiar with the comics but don't worry, you don't need any real experience with the Spider-man comics to get this story. The names taken from them are in there purely for my own geeky amusement.

When Peter received the email, he found himself frozen in place. He blinked at the glaring screen a few times, thinking that somehow it had to be wrong. It couldn’t possibly be addressed to him. Why would something like this ever be addressed to him?

 

_Dear Mr Parker,_

_As you may or may not know, every year we ask select schools around the city to put forward a select number of students for the opportunity of receiving a once in a lifetime Stark industries internship. After careful analysis and consolidation of our candidates, we are pleased to inform you that out of 30+ students, you have been selected for the unique and prestigious opportunity of interning at the centre of world’s leading provider of technological advancement._

_We at Stark industries and your school believe you would benefit greatly from this opportunity and we are all looking forward to working with you. As you know, Tony Stark is a man devoted to the idea of a bigger and brighter future and we would love to provide that for you._

_Please respond and let us know your availability as soon as possible, so we can further expand on the details of your internship and what will be expected of you._

_Congratulations from all of us at Stark industries, we are thoroughly looking forward to working with you!_

_Regards,_

_Pepper Potts_

_CEO of Stark Industries_

 

He read it again. And again. And again. He read it so many times the email was almost ingrained in his memory.

He closed the crappy self-made lap top, quickly.

He took a moment to calm himself down. He tapped on his knee like he always did, steadied his breath and counted until his heart rate returned to normal.

Just _reading_ that name was enough to send him into awful flashbacks. Who in their right mind would _ever_ put his name forward for something like this? Was it Morita? Didn’t Principal Morita know?

Breathe, Peter, breathe.

Peter had never been more thankful that he’d thought to rig a little bed curtain to drape over his bunk for privacy. If Kong would have seen him then, almost in tears over a fucking _email,_ he never would have heard the end of it.

Don’t get him wrong, Kong wasn’t a bad guy per se. He was just a big guy who liked to have a laugh and clearly had a rather large masculinity complex. Peter’s mere existence as a smaller, more scientifically inclined dude was enough to have Kong busting out lame joke after lame joke on the daily. Kong may have been a little on the Neanderthal side, yes but Peter couldn’t complain. He could have had a far worse roommate – he’d _had_ far worse roommates.

At least Kong was a nice enough guy, kept to his own stuff, never really poked around in Peter’s business all that often like other kids did. And he was heavy sleeper. Which made Peter’s late-night patrols a lot easier.

And Kong had the same understanding that Peter did about the temporariness of the whole situation. They both knew this wasn’t home. It was just another room that they slept in. They both knew it could all change in an instant. They could be out the door to a new place the very next day or they could very well stay in that room until they aged out at eighteen.

And Kong probably would. Kong may have been in Peter’s grade but he was also seventeen and his birthday was only a few months away. He would be gone before Peter even knew it. And then Peter would get another roommate. Or Peter would be in a whole different home entirely. He had no idea where he would be a few months down the line.

Other than the circumstances that got him there, the thing Peter hated the most about the system was the uncertainty of it. He hated not knowing what was going to happen to him and having no control over it. He hated waiting around until someone didn’t want him anymore. As far as he was concerned, it was always best to keep his suitcase packed. Getting settled in always came around to bite him in the ass.

He’d been in this home a few months now, though. It wasn’t great by any means. His foster parents really couldn’t care less and he lived in a room the size of a coat closet with a kid the size of a gorilla. But the kids were alright. Kong was cool and the older kids were nice enough. Most of them were just nice to him to get help with their homework, though. It wasn’t like he had a choice, anyway. As soon as his foster parents realised what a ‘freaky genius’ he was, they had him sitting at the dining room table every day after school, going through all the kid’s homework one by one to make sure they were all getting the best grades, so their foster parents looked like they were doing a good job. Sometimes his own work would fall to the wayside because of it, which couldn’t be helped but still really pissed his foster parents off:

_‘You can build a computer out of scraps and teach twelfth grade math to a seventeen-year-old but you can’t get a fucking C in an English paper?’_

 He could get an A in an English paper if only he ever had time to really do his own work, in-between helping everyone with theirs and – you know – saving Queens and whatnot.

Keeping his Spider-man suit hidden was an art. He wore it under his clothes most of the time and washed it at laundromats with the money he got from selling his pictures to the bugle. But on the off time where he had to have it away from his person, he had rigged a fake bottom in his suitcase that he hid his suit under. And no one ever bothered going through Peter’s suitcase. He made sure to keep ‘cool looking’ stuff out on his desk so no nosy little foster siblings ever felt the need to.

Peter was also thankful for the multiple passwords he had on his little homemade computer. He knew that if they could get into it, all the kids in the house would be screaming about the email from Stark industries to kingdom come.

All the kids loved Iron Man and the whole concept of superheroes.

Peter, however, had a very different opinion on the whole matter.

He’d loved them once, too. When his parents passed when he was six, he’d garnered a heavy obsession with the famed super humans as a sort of coping mechanism. And his aunt and uncle saw how much they helped him deal with the whole tragedy, so they’d do whatever possible to engage his fascination.

They even took him to see Tony Stark in person at the famous Stark Expo when he was seven. He’d be so excited to see Tony – he was beside himself at the tiniest possibility of _meeting_ him.

Of all the Avengers and all the heroes in the world, Iron Man was his favourite. Tony Stark was just like him. He too was a young genius who lost both his parents. He knew how Peter felt. And he went on to become one of the greatest heroes of Peter’s time.

The day of the Stark Expo when he was seven should have been the day where all Peter’s wildest dreams came true.

Instead, the day of the Stark Expo when he was seven was the day his entire life fell apart.

_The expo centre had gone up in a sea of screams and flames. The drones were everywhere, and people were pushing and running all over the place to try and escape. Somehow, young Peter Parker had been pushed and shoved away from his aunt and uncle and was desperately trying to find them in the sea chaos._

_Don’t panic_

_Don’t panic_

_You’re iron man._

_Peter pulled the mask back down on his face and paused to think of what his idol would do. It was then that one of the dreaded drones appeared in front of him._

_Peter raised a confident hand, despite what all logic was telling him and did just as Iron man would._

_And, as if by magic, the drone was blasted from it’s feet. And a fleeting voice told him:_

_‘Nice work, kid.’_

_And then Peter turned and saw Iron Man flying away and blasting every drone in sight._

_Peter was bouncing on his heels with excitement. He’d seen iron man in battle. Iron man had saved him. Iron man told him ‘nice work’.  It was the greatest moment of his life._

_He then desperately searched around for his aunt and uncle, eager to tell them about the event._

_‘Aunt May! Uncle Ben! You won’t believe what happened!’_

_‘Aunt May! Uncle Ben!’_

_‘Aunt May!’_

_‘Uncle Ben!’_

He remembered screaming until his throat was raw. He remembered being found by a police officer, clearing the scene. He remembered asking them over and over again where his aunt and uncle were.

And he remembered not getting an answer till far later in the evening, when he was sitting in the hard wooden chair of the police station, with a woman whom he would later know to be his social worker.

That was the night Peter lost the last of his family. That was the night Peter lost his home. That was the night Peter’s life fell apart.

He was in a group home before he could blink, he was with a nice young couple not even a month after that. The young couple fell pregnant and he was back in the group home two months later. He bounced from house to house, learning along the way the trouble that came with attachment. So, he abandoned the concept.

After a parade of rocky living situations and a handful of drunken assholes, Peter had found himself in the Katzenberg house. Nick and Nancy weren’t fantastic but they weren’t the worst. They didn’t have any real good intentions behind fostering other than the money that came along with it. But they were mostly uninvolved, they didn’t hit, didn’t bother too much about what the kids did in their spare time as long as their chores were done. Nick was even a decent enough guy to have a conversation with, when he was in a good mood. Peter considered the Katzenberg house a win, for the most part. Despite the long hours of homework he had to do.

But Peter knew if either Katzenberg knew about the Stark internship opportunity, all the benefits he could possibly reap would go straight into their laps. And he wouldn’t even have the option to decline, despite his feelings towards Tony Stark.

Tony Stark.

Even the name was enough to send shivers of hatred down Peter’s spine. 

Tony Stark who sat in his mansion, playing with his weaponised suits like they were toys, invading people’s lives and not even giving it a second thought. Tony Stark who designed the plane that his parents went down in. Tony Stark who’s stray blast shattered the beam of the expo centre that crushed his aunt and uncle. Tony Stark who took away everyone whom he had ever loved.

And here he was in Peter’s emails, offering him some crappy internship like he was his fucking saviour, probably not even realising how he had destroyed his life.

“What’s got you so quiet, squirt?”

The gravely yet warm voice of his roommate caused him to jump.

“Uh – nothing!” He said, quickly

The bunk above him gave an almighty creak as Kong shifted to get down.

“See, now after five months of sharing a room with you, Parker, you have to know that I can’t possibly buy that.” He said, his abnormally large heels, kicking against Peter’s curtain, “You’re always mumbling some science crap under your breath or doing that god awful tapping thing and if you’re not, something’s up. So, let’s try this again; what’s got you so quiet, squirt?”

Kong was the only one in the house that really knew the whole the story behind what had happened to Peter’s family. You share a tiny room with one guy for five months and you have the occasional nightmare that has you muttering about the Stark Expo in your sleep, everything ends up spilling out eventually.

Well, almost everything.

Even in his sleep, Peter knew never to breathe a word about his ‘extra-curricular activities’.

“I – uh – may have gotten a job…” He said, slowly

“A job? That’s awesome!” Said Kong, hoping down and pulling back the curtain, “Why the hell would that have you so mopey?”

“It’s not exactly a job I want.” He said, swinging his legs over the side of his bed, “My school apparently put my name forward for it. I had no idea it was even happening.”

Kong took a seat on the floor, knowing there was absolutely no way he would fit on the bottom bunk and gave Peter a curious look.

“And?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow, “What’s the problem?”

“It’s an internship.” He said, in low a voice, making sure no eavesdropping foster parents or siblings could hear, “At Stark Industries.”

Kong’s face fell.

“Oh.” He said, in response, suddenly looking very guilty for even having asked

“Yeah. Oh.” Replied Peter, opening his laptop and studying the email some more, “They’re saying they picked me out of 30+ candidates and want to help me towards a ‘bigger and brighter future’, whatever that means.”

“Maybe Stark has a guilt complex.”

“Yeah.” Said Peter, with a scoff, “Like Tony Stark has any idea about any of the lives he’s ruined. His publicists probably just saw my test scores and the term ‘foster kid’ and practically pissed themselves at the PR opportunity.”

“Maybe.” Said Kong, with a shrug, “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t ride the thing out though.”

Peter gave a sigh and closed the laptop.

“Kong…”

“Look, squirt.” He said, giving him a serious look, “After all the crap he’s done to you, don’t you think it wouldn’t be at least a little satisfying to show him up a little?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, go in there and just do your whole Peter Parker freaky genius thing.” He said, “Show the dude up, embarrass him. You know, like you do with that Flash kid at your school? Walk on in there and show him his little PR charity case has more brains than he ever had.”

 “But he’s _Tony Stark_.” Pointed out Peter, “I highly doubt I can actually 'show him up' or anything.”

Kong rolled his eyes in response.

“Dude, I’ve listened to you go on and on about all the mistakes he makes and things he overlooks in all his tech crap ever since I’ve known you.” He said, “You really don’t think you have anything you could call him out on?”

Peter had to admit, Kong wasn’t wrong. In fact, one of Peter’s spiteful hobbies was unpacking Stark’s theories and examining his tech and their schematics and finding all the bugs and faults with them. There wasn’t a single mistake Stark had ever made that had gone unnoticed by Peter.

Before Peter could respond, the shrill voice of Nancy Katzenberg called them down for dinner. And both Peter and Kong knew better than to be late for dinner.

Dinner that night was frozen pizza. Their dinners were often some sort of unhealthy frozen dish that whoever’s turn it was to cook quickly threw in the oven twenty minutes before.

Still, it was better than nothing.

“Peter-“ Said Nancy, watching him from over the counter, “Has everyone done their homework?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He said, quickly swallowing the mouthful of pizza, “Finished an hour ago.”

“And is everyone up to scratch?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And then she scowled at him. Which gave Peter an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

“Then how come Jane and Drew are only pulling a C minus in science?” She asked, approaching the table, “Can’t teach seventh grade physics, now?”

“They seemed like they knew what they were doing when we were going through it the other night.” Said Peter, trying to maintain a steady calm in his voice, “I don’t know what happened.”

“Well, I know what’s going to happen.” Said Nancy, “You’re going to take an extra hour with both of them.”

“But Nancy, I-“

“No buts.” She said, folding her arms, “If you did your job right in the first place, you wouldn’t have an extra two hours of chores, would you?”

Peter stared down at his plate, knowing better than to give a smart-ass response. It wasn’t _fair_. How was he going to have time to do his own work and the necessary research for spider-man now? He barely had time to do it before, another two hours wasted on two kids who couldn’t care less about science meant another two hours _he_ didn’t have.

“Peter can’t do that.” Said Kong, suddenly

“And why the hell not?” Said Nancy, placing her hands on her hips

“Because he got an after-school job, right Pete?” Said Kong, kicking him softly under the table (Though, what Kong considered a ‘soft’ kick was not a definition most others would use)

“Um, yeah.” Said Peter, nervously drumming on his thigh

What was Kong _doing_? Where was he going with this? He knew better than spill the details of such an exclusive internship to someone like Nancy.

“He’s one of those genius people at the Stark store.” Said Kong, “You know, the guys that people bring their broken phones and computers to? Heard the pay is nice.”

“Y-yeah.” Said Peter, thinking back to the intern payment plan that had been attached to Pepper’s email, “The pay is really good. Could really help with things around here.”

Nancy cocked her heard to the side, her brows furrowed in thought, evidently trying to weigh out the negatives and positives that came along with Peter occupying his time with a paying job rather than helping the other kids.

“And it’s a temporary contract.” Added Peter, quickly, “I’m filling in while someone is on maternity leave. So, everything will go back to normal after a couple of months. And we’ll have an extra few hundred bucks under the belt.”

Nancy closed her eyes and sighed.

“Fine.” She said, finally, “We could use the cash. But if any of these kids start failing, you’re getting up an hour earlier to sort it out before school, got it?”

“Got it.” Said Peter, his heart racing in his chest, “Thank you, Nancy.”

_Thank you, Kong._

The thought of no longer having to occupy his time managing everyone else’s GPAs was exhilarating. And Kong did have a point about his itching desire to make a fool of Tony Stark and expose him for sloppy genius Peter believed he was.

Maybe the Stark internship was a blessing in disguise.

Later than evening, Peter found himself staring at the glaring screen of his laptop, Kong’s rumbling snores echoing above him.

After what felt like hours of contemplating, Peter finally hit reply and typed up a short but sweet response.

_Miss Potts,_

_Thank you so much for the opportunity. I’m available to start whenever needed. I’m excited to hear what this internship entails._

_Peter Parker_

And then hit send and closed his laptop, quickly, before his second guessing forced him to hit the delete button.

And the sinking reality of what was in store started to weigh on Peter.

He was going to work for Stark Industries.

He was going to see Tony Stark in the flesh.

After eight long years of anger and despair, he was going to come face to face with the man who ruined his life.

And Peter had no idea how he might react when that happened.

Oh god.

Was this really worth escaping a few months of chores and a couple smart ass remarks to the man himself?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was an awkward ending. Guess who couldn't figure out a good strong line to end their chapter on?  
> I'm hoping to throw Peter right into things in the next chapter, so the Peter-Tony confrontation will happen sooner rather and later! And don't worry, Tony won't be a total ass. I love the man too much to ever do that.  
> This story is going to be chuck full of angst and emotional messes so if you're into that kind of stuff, stick around because this is the fic for you lol  
> I really hope you enjoyed this first chapter and if you did, please leave me a comment to let me know your thoughts! Comments on my fics always make my day.  
> Thank you so much for reading!  
> xxx


	2. Chapter 2

Peter couldn’t stop his knee from bouncing all day.

It’d been a few days since he received the email about his internship and Peter and Miss Potts had been in communication back and forth ever since. After school today, a car would arrive to take Peter to the upstate facility in which his internship was based. And as each and every hour crawled by, Peter could feel his anxiety building more and more.

“Dude.” Whispered his best friend, Ned Leeds, “You’re shaking the whole table, the beakers are gonna fall off.”

“Sorry.” Said Peter, placing a firm hand on his leg, in a futile attempt to stop it’s jittering, “I’m just-“

“Anxious?” Finished Ned, raising a knowing eyebrow

Peter let out a long breath.

“Yeah.” He said, “Anxious.”

Ned knew Peter way too well.

“You’re going to be fine.” He reassured, sliding all the breakable glass to his side of the table, “I know it’s… A lot. But, dude, what are the odds in a place that big – in a _company_ that big – you’ll ever actually run into the guy?”

  Peter had started at Midtown mid-way through the first semester of freshman year. Previously, he’d never thought it possible a kid like him could ever go to school like this. But it was only two weeks into his first year in a not so great high school that he was pulled into the principal’s office to discuss his academic performance. Initially, he had been terrified, thinking that maybe his grades had slipped or his teacher’s thought him too much of a smart ass but those troubles were quickly squashed. Apparently, his academic performance was so excelled, that they believed he might do better in a more engaging learning environment. He was then made aware of a specialised scholarship program at Midtown High for scientifically inclined, underprivileged youths that had yet to be filled for that academic year. His old principal had put his name forward for the potential scholarship and Peter passed his interview with Principal Morita with flying colours.

  Principal Morita and him really hit it off. Morita was extremely sympathetic regarding his situation and was committed to making sure he had the same opportunities that all the other kids at the school had. The times when he’d had to move foster homes, Morita had worked with his social worker to make sure he wasn’t moved into a new school. He was also thankfully a little lenient.  Peter’s scholarship was dependent upon academic performance and sometimes, due to all the time he had to spend helping his foster siblings, his performance would slip. Morita was kind enough to take into account the responsibilities Peter had at home and would often allow him in school make up assignments which he almost always passed in the top percentile.

He didn’t like pushing his luck, though. Morita was sympathetic. But not so sympathetic that he would let him slip through the cracks and maintain his scholarship. He wasn’t a doormat.

Ned was the first friend Peter made at the school. On his first day, he stuck out like a sore thumb. His clothes were hand-me-downs, his shoes were old and ratty and all his text books came from the library. Kids the likes of Flash Thompson sniggered and put their bags on the seats so Peter wouldn’t sit next to them. But Ned didn’t.

Peter remembered vividly sitting down next to Ned after an embarrassing and hellish first period, kicking himself for ever thinking he could possibly be accepted in a school like this. He remembered Ned turning to him with a big smile and bracing himself for yet another snarky comment but instead receiving a compliment regarding the star-wars button on his backpack. And they’d been friends ever since.

“My mom baked you good luck cookies, by the way.” He said, pulling a tupperware container out of his backpack, “… I may have sampled one or two.”

“Good luck cookies?” He said, with a smirk, “As opposed to the _congrats on your chem lab grade_ cookies or the _just because it’s Monday_ cookies?”

Ned shrugged.

“Hey, the woman likes to bake you cookies!” He said, “Don’t question it.”

“I’m not complaining.” He said, shoving he box into his backpack, “It’s only the matter of keeping them hidden. If the little kids don’t find them, Kong will.”

 “And you wonder why she bakes you so many.” Said Ned, shaking his head

As well as being his best friend, Ned was also the only person at Midtown high, other than the teachers, that knew about Peter’s background and where he lived. After that horrifically judgmental first period on his first day, Peter made a vow to himself to keep the rest of his life private. He didn’t even want to know what Flash Thompson would do if he found out he was in foster care.

He hadn’t even intended to tell Ned, initially. But after a couple months of friendship, he eventually came around to the idea that maybe Ned wouldn’t have a problem with it. He probably could have found a better way to tell him, though. Ned never let him forget the way he had let him know about his situation.

It was nearing Christmas in their freshman year and Peter had been to Ned’s house a decent amount of times but had always found clever excuses as to why he couldn’t come to his. Ned’s mom was quite fond of him (If we’re being honest, Peter was pretty sure Ned’s mom was mainly fond of the idea of Ned having a friend that wasn’t some arrogant rich kid) and wanted to have him over for dinner more and more.

“Dinner.” Ned had said, plopping down in front of him at their lunch table, “This Saturday. Mom’s cooking meatloaf. Bring you parents. Mom wants to meet them. I think she just wants another mom friend, if I’m honest.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna work out.” He had replied

He remembered distinctly focusing very hard on the turkey sandwich he was holding.

“Why? Are you guys busy?” Asked Ned, furrowing his brow in confusion, “Your parents out of town?”

“No, they’re six feet under.”

“They’re _what_?”

“My parents died when I was six, Ned.” He’d replied, a little too quickly and a little too casually

And he remembered Ned’s face falling pale and his stammering to move on.

“Oh god – sorry! You – you never mentioned!” He said, stumbling over his words, his cheeks flushing red with embarrassment, “I mean, I guess invite you’re…. Grandparents? Aunt and Uncle?.... Cousins?”

And Peter had just shook his head and gave his friend a reassuring smile.

“I live in a foster home, Ned.” He’d said, “I don’t have any family.”

After the initial awkwardness and the ten minutes of Ned apologising profusely, Ned had made Peter promise not withhold important information like that from him again. Which, consequently, was also the reason Ned was the only person who knew about Spider-man. And the reason Peter basically owed Ned any favour ever.

_‘Remember when you made me look like satan?’_

Almost everything Peter would tell Ned about his past or home life would end up making it’s way to Ned’s mother. Which was most definitely the reason that whenever he was in trouble with his foster parents or was being moved to a new home or anything was seemingly turbulent, Ned’s mom was always coincidentally inviting him over for dinner and sending him on his way with a backpack full of left overs.

The next day after he had told Ned about his living situation, Ned had turned up to school with a batch of Christmas gingerbread cookies.

And a few months later, when he was in the hospital, following his incident at Oscorp, it was Ned and his mom who came to visit and find out what was going on from the doctors rather than his then foster parents (whom had promptly decided it ‘wasn’t going to work out’ after they had found him passed out on his bedroom floor, with a welt on his hand the size of a baseball).

He hadn’t had a family for over eight years now, but he had the Leeds’. And they were close enough.

Ned always knew the line between what to tell his mom and what not to. Ned’s mom knew about every black eye and housing shift and foster family. Ned’s mom didn’t know about Spider-man or Tony Stark’s connections to Peter’s dead family members.

The bell for last period rang and Peter near jumped out of his skin.

“Dude.” Said Ned, placing a hand on his shoulder, “It’s going to be _fine_.”

Peter hoped he was right.

The car that had been sent for him was nicer than any vehicle he’d been allowed to set foot in ever in his life. The driver opened the door for him and he slid in, gingerly, careful not to touch anything out fear of maybe damaging it. He then immediately scolded himself for being so considerate.

This was Tony Stark’s company car.

Mess it up as much you want.

The man driving eyed him through the front mirror, having a seemingly permanent frown etched on his face.

“What’s your name, kid?” He asked, finally

“Peter.” He replied, “Yours?”

“Happy.” He said, with a tone that read anything but, “Happy Hogan.”

And that was all that was said the entire ride. Which Peter appreciated. He wasn’t necessarily jumping at the chance to get to know every Stark employee. That and he was pretty sure every passing word would have dialled his nerves up further and further.

The problem with Peter and high levels of anxiety was he became increasingly more aware of his heightened senses. So, through the whole drive all he could smell was the pine scented air freshener at a monstrous level, which made his stomach churn. And all he could hear was the sound of the slight whistle Happy’s nose made every time he breathed, which set his teeth on edge.

By the time they arrived at the Stark facility, Peter practically leapt out of the car. Happy, quickly, ushered him into the reception where Peter suddenly started to feel exactly like his first day at midtown high, again. Hopelessly out of place and an obviously awkward fitting piece of the jigsaw puzzle.

“State your name, please.” Said a voice, echoing through the room

Peter jumped, looking around before realising that no one else was actually in the room.

“Um…. Peter Parker?” He said, apprehensively, not quite knowing who or what he was speaking to

And then, as if out of nowhere, a blonde woman in office attire walked into the room.

“Peter?” She said, approaching him, holding out her hand, “Good afternoon, I’m Pepper Potts, we corresponded over email?”

Peter shook her hand, being careful to control his grip.

“Yes, afternoon, Miss Potts.” He said, politely, “How are you?”

“I’m very well, thank you.” She said, “Strong hand shake. Nice. Mr Stark admires a strong hand shake.”

Peter opened his mouth to respond but Miss Potts was already walking away, beckoning him to follow as she talked.

She started with a whole bunch of house keeping jargon that, if he were any less alert, would have gone way over his head. The facility was huge, Peter kept trying to make a mental note of every corner they turned and elevator they took but eventually gave up and conceded to the fact he’d have to ask that freaky AI for directions when the occasion arose.

“-You’ll be working directly under Mr Stark.” Pepper explained, “Doing little things he tells you. Fetch him coffee, blue prints, set up meetings; stuff like that. Things an assistant might do.”

“Wait.” Said Peter, stopping in his tracks, “I’m working with Stark _directly_?”

“Working _for_ him.” She corrected, as she approached a final door, “But yes. You’re Tony’s intern. I apologise in advance for his language. The man’s a genius but he’s got a foul mouth. I’m thinking hiring someone on the younger side might make him clean it up a little, which would be great for future business correspondence.”

Peter felt the wave of nausea he felt in Happy’s car once again. In his email correspondence with Pepper, they’d mainly discussed salaries, availabilities, working around his school time table and curfew. She’d mentioned fleetingly how his role in the company would be largely minute. He didn’t think that would mean fetching the man behind the name’s coffee.

Peter had prepared for having to be in an environment that was largely centred around him and for the possibility of maybe giving the man himself a quick underhanded comment but not for working directly with him. Not for having to see and interact with him every day.

He wondered, as Pepper stated her name to the creepy AI voice to gain access to the lab they were entering, if it were too late to back out right then and there.

The door opened, and Peter and Pepper were greeted with the deafening sounds of AC/DC’s _highway to hell_.

Pepper tutted in annoyance and stormed into the lab, to which Peter, reluctantly, followed.

“TONY!” She yelled, as she approached his back turned form, “TURN THAT RACKET DOWN! YOUR INTERN IS HERE!”

“Friday, pause.” Said a voice Peter had only heard in YouTube videos for the last eight years

Then he swivelled round in his chair and Peter was greeted with the face he’d spent over half his life hating the site of. The carefully shaven, smug, reprehensible face of the man who had made him an orphan. Yet there he sat, looking at him with careless smile, as he were the most harmless thing in the world.

It made him sick to his stomach.

“What’s with Oliver Twist?” He said, nodding in Peter’s direction but not actually addressing him

He seemed very pleased at his own joke, too. If only he could realise how massively _unfunny_ that comment was.

“ _Peter_ is your new intern.” Said Pepper, shooting Tony as glare, as if to say ‘shu _t up’,_ “We’ve discussed this, Tony. Multiple times. You knew he was starting today. I reminded you this morning.”

“Right, right.” He said, batting her off, now focusing his attention on him, “Peter, is it? I’m Tony. But you already knew that.”

Peter made a point to remain blank faced.

“Wow.” Said Tony, once again addressing Pepper instead of him, “Quite the sense of humour. Boy, Pep, you really know how to pick ‘em.”

“ _Tony_.”

“I kid, I kid!” He said, raising his hands in defence

He then turned back to Peter and held out his hand.

Peter was hesitant to take it, not exactly _jumping_ at the opportunity to shake the hand of the man that was responsible for the death of almost everyone he’d ever cared about.

“Come on, kid.” He said, offering him a relaxed smile, “I don’t bite.”

Peter, eventually, took it. Without the same caution he took with Pepper.

“Wow.” Said Tony, pulling away and flexing his fingers, “Got quite a grip, kid. Wouldn’t have expected that from the size of you.”

“Alright. I’ll leave you to it.” Said Pepper, before turning to Peter, “If he gives you any grief, call me, got it?”

Peter nodded in response, before Pepper walked out of the room muttering: ‘ _told_ him’ and ‘Oliver Twist, _really_?’ under her breath as she went.

Tony watched her go, with a sort of amused yet loving stare, whilst Peter couldn’t help but peer at the blue prints and note pad on the desk behind him.

From the looks of it, he was designing a new gauntlet prototype. With the same slight error Peter noticed he always made. Ten years of those obnoxious red and gold guilt complex vanity toys and he _still_ hadn’t fixed it. How typical. How _arrogant_.

“Right.” Said Tony, after Pepper had exited the room, “Coffee. Black. Two sugars, none of that artificial sweetener crap Pepper keeps trying to put me on. And none of that fancy, heart attack in a cup, total _non_ -coffee you millennials like.”

Peter gave a nod, making a mental note to use nothing _but_ the artificial sweeteners for the remainder of his internship.

“Your math is wrong, by the way.” He said, as he typed the coffee order down on his taped-together phone

“What was that?” Said Tony, swivelling back round, with a raised eyebrow

“Your math.” Said Peter, not even bothering to make eye contact with him, “It’s wrong. But I’ll go get your coffee now.”

“Hold it. So, you _can_ speak.” Said Tony, making him stop in his tracks

Peter nodded.

“And I can do basic math, too.” He said, “And I can tell yours is wrong.”

Tony scoffed and folded his arms, looking at him incredulously.

“What are you, twelve?” He said, amused, “Look, Oliver, I’ve been designing and building this crap for over a decade now and that so called _wrong math_ hasn’t failed me yet.”

 _That’s debatable_ thought Peter. But he knew better than to say that out loud. 

“You messed up, see?” Said Peter, approaching the desk and placing his finger on the corresponding equation, “You didn’t carry the one. Your trajectory is going to be ever so slightly off. Which may not sound like such a big deal but since you’re obviously intending to use this for, you know, dangerous circumstances; you probably don’t want to risk it.”

 Tony stared at him for a moment, seemingly dumbfounded. He seemed to be studying his face, perhaps reading it for any signs of humour. But Peter was completely serious. And Tony Stark’s math was completely wrong.

“What’s your name again, kid?” He said, finally, looking at him with an intensity far different from when he came in

“Peter.” He said, “Peter Parker.”

“And where exactly did my lovely fiancé _find_ you, Peter Parker?”

“Midtown science.” He said, with a shrug, “But she didn’t find me. My principal put me forward for this. Wasn’t exactly my idea.”

“Midtown science.” Tony Repeated, studying him once again, “And what exactly is a midtown science student doing with a duct-taped – Jesus _Christ_ – is that a _gen 3_ iPhone?”

Peter felt his face flush red and he promptly shoved his phone back in the pocket of his jeans. This was _exactly_ like his first day at midtown.

“Scholarship student.” He said, putting his hands in his pockets, dropping his gaze back to Tony’s blueprints

Tony’s hard stare seemed to soften, and he followed his gaze to the blue prints.

“Well, scholarship.” He said, after a fleeting minute of silence, “You may have a point about my math, here.”

Tony erased the latter half of his equation and fixed it with Peter’s earlier suggestion.

“Good call.” He added, “You’re sharp, kid. Even if you are a smart ass.”

“I’ll go get your coffee now.” Said Peter, making yet another note to add only one artificial sweetener _just_ for the phone comment

“Forget about that.” Said Tony, batting his hand, “Sit. Look over these, will ya? I’ve been staring at the same blue prints all day now, need a fresh mind to firm them to make sure I’m not _losing_ mine.”

“The rest of these seem fine.” Said Peter, doing as instructed scanning over the papers in front of him, “Design’s a little tacky, though.”

Tony scoffed.

“Coming from duct-tape phone, over here.”

Peter guessed Tony must have noticed how his face fell because he quickly added:

“Only teasing, kid.” He said, “Let me have a look at it.”

Peter, reluctantly, removed the phone from his pocket once again and slid it across the desk to the billionaire.

He felt his face grow warm as Mr Stark examined the cracked screen and slightly protruding motherboard and the fraying tape.

Tony tutted and shook his head.

“This won’t do.” He said, getting up and riffling through a drawer

“Aha!” He said, as he produced a pristine white box and tossed it to Peter – who caught it in one hand

“Nice reflexes.” Tony noted, sitting back down, “Stark phone. Latest model. On the house.”

“Oh no, Mr Stark, I can’t-“

“Don’t give me any of that.” Said Tony, with a batting gesture, once again, “You’re my intern. I need to make sure I’m able to contact you. And I don’t trust that that _thing_ you called a phone previously will suffice.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Said Peter, sliding the box back in his direction, “I can’t take this. It’ll get stolen.”

Tony raised an eyebrow at him, yet again.

“Kid, you go to _Midtown science_.” He said, “I highly doubt that.”

“It won’t get stolen at school.” Said Peter, fiddling with the sleeves of his hoodie, “Look I… I don’t live in the greatest area, okay? A-and nothing nice I get ever keeps. I’d rather just keep my old phone.”

Tony stared him, again. God, what was with this man and _studying_ him? Why did he insist on looking at people like they were human math equations?

“What do your parents do, kid?” He said, finally

That was it. He could talk about math and phones with the guy and just about hold it together but he was _not_ about to be discussing this with him. Not today.

“Look… Can we-“ Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “Can we just talk about the blue prints? Please?”

Tony seemed a little taken aback. And clearly very curious. But he responded with soft toned:

“Sure, kid.”

…

“Hey, Pep.” Said Tony, taking a gatorade from the fridge, “The kid. Peter. What’s his deal?”

Pepper looked up from her half-eaten plate of pasta and shot him a perplexed look.

“First of all, I _know_ you’re not about to hop on back to your lab, call that dinner and ignore my famous mac and cheese.” She said, as he quickly began to help himself to the macaroni on the stove, “Second, what do you mean _what’s his deal_?”

Tony took a forkful straight from the pot, leaning against the counter.

“I mean, what’s up with him?” He asked, “The clothes, the phone; everything?”

Pepper closed her eyes and gave an exasperated sigh.

“Tony, what did you say to the poor kid?”

“ _Nothing_!” Said Tony, defensively, “I just tried to offer him a phone and he got all weird about it.”

“And?”

“What do you mean _and_?”

“Tony, I’ve known you for over a decade, now.” Said Pepper, matter-of-factly, “With you, there’s _always_ an _and_.”

Tony looked at her, slightly amused. He both loved and hated that she knew him so well. Mostly loved. How couldn’t he? God, this woman.

“And I asked what his parents did.” Said Tony, innocently

Pepper gave a groan and buried her face in her hands.

“ _Tony_!”

“ _What_?” Said Tony, indignantly, “What’s so wrong with that? It’s a reasonable enough question!”

“He doesn’t _have_ any.” She said, rubbing between her eyes

“ _What_?”

“He’s an orphan, Tony.” Said Pepper, “He’s in foster care.”

Tony could have kicked himself in that moment.

“ _Jesus_ , Pepper!”

“Don’t _‘Jesus, Pepper’_ me! I sent you the application his principal sent me.” She said, shaking her head, “It was all in there, Tony. Parents died when he was six. Aunt and uncle died when he was seven and he’s been bouncing from foster home to foster home ever since.”

“Well, shit!”

“What?”

“That’s _a lot_ , Pep!”

“Look, who would you have preferred I gave the internship to?” She snapped, “Some obnoxious rich kid who goes to one of these prestigious science schools off of mommy and daddy’s coin? Or someone who got in through their own merit and who’s having an internship with someone like you could really make a difference in their life? This isn’t about you, Tony. It’s about giving a deserving kid from unfortunate circumstances an opportunity that he wouldn’t get otherwise. Help him towards a _better and brighter future._ Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be all about?”

Tony was silent in response. Pepper was right. She was always right. God, she had a true talent for making him feel like a total ass, when he deserved it.

“Besides, you like him.” Said Pepper, directing her attention back to her dinner, with a shrug

“Oh, do I?”

“Yes.” Said Pepper, with a smug smirk, “You wouldn’t have asked about him if you didn’t.”

The two locked eyes and Tony couldn’t help but catch her grin.

“Whatever.”

He continued eating Pepper’s mac and cheese straight out of the pot, despite her shaking her head at him. Then it hit him.

“ _Jesus_ , Pep!”

“What now?!”

_“I called him Oliver Twist!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pepperony. Gotta love 'em.  
> Wow! Thank you so much for all the lovely feedback! Seriously, all those great comments really motivated me to get this next chapter written for you as soon as possible. Next chapter, we'll see Peter's overall feelings about his first meeting with Tony, his dilemma over whether or not he should continue with the internship, Ned's mom, a few more of Peter's foster siblings and Kong will be back (It's been one chapter and I already miss him lmao)  
> Thank you so much for reading and if you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment! They really really make my day!  
> xxx


	3. Chapter 3

He arrived home just after eight, having spent the afternoon and early evening helping Mr Stark go over all his blue prints for his next model to make sure they were sound. And he felt really weird about the whole thing. Like there was a knot in his stomach and the more he thought about his day, the tighter and tighter it got.

He came in through the front door without a word, answering Nancy’s single solitary question about his first day ‘at the Stark store’ with a half-hearted:

“Fine.”

He then retreated upstairs, to his room, narrowly avoiding tripping over the various toy cars that had been left in the hallway by some of the younger kids.

“Hey!” Said Kong, when he entered, “How did it go?”

“Fine.”

He slipped into the bottom bunk, wanting to try and figure out how he was feeling and how he could possibly untie this knot.

“Oh no.” Said Kong, pulling back the curtain, “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Will you just leave it _alone?_ ”

“Geez.” Said Kong, raising an eyebrow, “That bad, huh?”

“ _No_.”

“Look, will you stop being a little ass and just tell me what happened, so I don’t have to deal with you moping around here all night?” Said Kong, with a sigh, “It’s more annoying when you sit there all quiet than when you’re mumbling to yourself.”

“Lovely sentiment.”

“ _Peter_.”

“He wasn’t a bad guy.” Peter blurted out, finally, “I went in there expecting to see the devil incarnate and he was _nice_.  He tried to give me a new phone, said I was sharp when I corrected his math. He even helped me with my physics homework.”

“Wait, you actually met Tony Stark?”

“I’m his personal intern.” Said Peter, running a hand through his hair, “I thought I’d just be low level coffee runner for a few of his people, I didn’t realise I’d actually be working with _him_.”

“And he was a nice dude?”

“For the most part, yeah.”

“And you’re upset about that why?”

“He's the reason I'm here, Kong.”

“Oh yeah.”

Then the door burst open to an irritated looking seventeen-year-old girl, phone in hand.

“Learn to knock, Kelsey.” Said Kong, shooting her a glare

“Peter, the old bat next door changed the wifi password again.” She said, as if Kong didn’t even exist

“Okay…?” Peter replied

“Well, do your freaky genius thing and get the new one!”

Peter rolled his eyes but opened his laptop regardless.

“Knowing Miss Munroe, it’s most likely going to be something along the lines of ‘StopStealingMyInternetYouRottenHoodlums’ or one of her cat’s names.” He said, turning to Kong, “What’s the new one called?”

Kong gave a shrug.

“I don’t know, it’s either jellybean or she just really wants someone to bring her candy.”

“Kelsey, try jellybean.”

The brunette girl typed the name into her phone and then her face lit up in a smile.

“This is why you’re my favourite, Pete.”

“To be fair, that was all Kong.”

But she was past listening and back into her intense online game that she seemed to never put down.

“You’re a dime, Pete.” She said, not even lifting her gaze from her phone, her thumbs tapping aggressively, “By the way, Casey brought a cold back home from school. Consider yourself warned.”

“Has she been quarantined?”

Kelsey nodded, eyes still locked on her screen.

“She’s in her room but she’s not happy about it.”

“Better her sulking than the plague going around this house again.” Said Kong, with a shudder for dramatic effect

Only he really wasn’t being all that dramatic. Almost every time one of the kids came home with a cold, it spread around the entire house within two days. There was nothing worse than a house of twelve sneezing kids. Especially when there was no competent adult to take care of them. Which was why they tried to catch and quarantine every sniffle and cough as soon as it entered the door.

Even with his post-spider bite immune system, Peter had been taken down by the Katzenberg house plague almost every time. It was not happening this time.

Kelsey waltzed out of the room, consumed in her game, not even bothering to close the door.

“Always a pleasure, Kels.” Kong muttered, sarcastically, “Brace yourself, Squirt. We got another Katzenberg plague on the horizon.”

“Don’t jinx it.”

“You know there’s no way it’s not taking the whole house down.” Said Kong, shaking his head, “It’s December, as well. You can run but you can’t hide.”

“Don’t – I’ve got the internship, remember?” Said Peter, with a groan, knowing that Kong was right

“Hey! Look at it this way; you stand a high chance of giving Tony Stark the Katzenberg plague.” Said Kong, “That can’t be a bad thing, right?”

Peter couldn’t help but laugh a little at the idea.

“Every cloud has a silver lining, I suppose.”

…

“Alright, Ned. Talk to me.” Said Peter, slipping his headphones under his mask

“Bank robbery. A couple blocks away.” Said Ned, on the other side of the phone, “I’d be careful if I were you – whatever weapons they’re using do not look military regulation.”

“What do you mean?”

But what Ned had meant made itself evidently clear when he arrived on the scene. Multiple men in cheesy avengers Halloween masks were robbing ATMS with extremely high-tech and unforeseeable weapons. After a few moments, Peter identified the Chitauri core the weapons seemed to be using from the many many nights he had spent examining the carnage from the Avengers infamous battle of New York.

Peter had to give to him, if he hadn’t spent so much of his life sincerely despising Tony Stark and analysing the many disasters he’d leave in his wake, he may not have been able to identify the technology used in the weapons at all.

However, no matter what he knew of the weapons, he was not equipped to deal with them and the bank went up in flames. Luckily, no one was hurt.

Moments after Peter regained his senses and the perps had fled the scene, the smoke cleared to reveal iron man himself landing on site.

 _Maybe he can make himself useful after all_ Peter thought, reeling at the idea of the criminals escaping into the night and, admittedly, a little comforted at the idea of iron man hunting them down.

However, Iron Man did not pursue them, instead he immediately approached Peter.

“Well now. If it isn’t the infamous incy wincy spider.” He said, dryly

Peter had never been more thankful for Ned’s suggestion to rig part of one of those dumb toy voice changing megaphones into the mouth piece of his costume.

“Funny. That’d be hilarious if there weren’t a little gang of criminals with alien technology running around New York city as we speak. But no. Please. Go ahead with your little nursery rhyme.”

“You think you’re funny, huh?”

“No, I’d rather not develop a Tony Stark sized ego.”

Evidentially, that comment struck a nerve.

“Ok wise guy.” He snapped, “Want to explain what the hell just happened here? Or what the hell you think you’re doing running around in pyjamas and blowing up banks? Or what the hell you even _are?_ ”

It was almost as if the nice guy from that afternoon had completely disappeared. And Peter began to remember all the little things he’d added to his Tony Stark hate list over the years.

“Like I said before, little gang of criminals with alien technology.” He said, “Priorities, tin-man. Look, I know I’m not the guy to be dealing with this stuff-“

“You’re damn right you’re not.”

“I’m more of a street level kind of guy. You know, muggings, preventing car accidents, helping people out of burning buildings; all that jazz. This alien stuff? Not my scene. That’s all you.” He explained, kicking at a piece of rubble, “Just thought you’d like to know that the weapons the guys we both just let escape were using are Chitauri powered. I don’t know how they got access to that stuff, but I think you seem like the guy who might have a comprehensive list of anyone who possibly could.”

For once, Iron man remained silent. So, Spider-man continued.

“I saw what went down in the battle of New York first hand. This is my home. I saw what was being used to try and destroy it, so don’t even try to write this off. I saw it again tonight.” He said, starting to scan the scene for his exit route, “But again, I don’t want any part in it. I, personally, don’t like messing with things that can cause mass devastation. But I know that’s kind of your jam, so here’s all I know: those weapons are crazy dangerous. People are going to get seriously hurt. People are going to die. Find those criminals, take them in, find the source; put a stop to it. Do what you gotta do. I’ll stay out of it. Keep doing my low-level, working class vigilante business that never bothered you before. We won’t have to cross paths again. Just don’t mess with any innocent lives along the way, okay? ‘Cause that’s when we’re gonna have a problem, you and me.”

Iron Man didn’t respond immediately. Which was surprising because, considering all Peter knew about him, it was rare that Tony Stark ever found himself speechless.

“Who the hell _are_ you?” He said, finally

“I’m Spider-man.” He said, casting a web at a streetlight, “But you didn’t really need to know that. This whole thing? This is never going to happen again. Go find your bad guys, tin-man. It’s all you.”

And he swung off before he could even hear the man’s reply. He didn’t want to.

Judging by this lack of pursuit, though, it seemed that he might have actually taken his observations seriously. Which was surprising, considering the arrogance of the man. And especially considering how quick he was to dismiss Peter’s suggestion this afternoon, before Peter promptly forced him to see it.

But maybe it was easier for him to take suggestions seriously when he didn’t know they were coming from a teenager.

“ _Dude_.” Said the voice of Ned, whom Peter had almost forgotten was there

“That was trippy.”

“You just had a verbal smack-down with _iron man_.”

“I already did that this afternoon.”

“That was Tony Stark. This was Iron Man.” Said a clearly fan-boying Ned, “ _That was so badass!_ ”

Peter couldn’t help but be slightly entertained by how amazed his friends was.

“Glad you enjoyed the show, Ned.”

…

Peter didn’t get much sleep that night, he couldn’t get those weapons off his mind. Had Iron Man taken his concerns seriously? Did he really go after them? Or did he just give up his pursuit of Spider-Man, after Peter said he had no interest in being his particular type of super-hero?

However, despite his sleep deprivation and admitted fogginess in his brain, Peter still got up early to go catch breakfast at the Leeds house.

He normally went at least once a week. The Katzenbergs didn’t care too much considering it was one less mouth to feed. They only cared when it was his turn to cook breakfast or if another one of the kids had a test that day (which happened more often than not, in a house with twelve kids). But when he was allowed to have breakfast with his friend, he was grateful. Because Mrs Leeds was as good at making breakfast as she was at baking cookies.

“ _Cause that’s when we’re gonna have a problem, you and me._ ” Quoted Ned, in hushed voice, as he bit into a strip of turkey bacon, “That was so badass. Easily the coolest thing you’ve said as a superhero thus far.”

“Shhhh…” Hushed Peter, eyeing Mrs Leeds close by, who was thankfully distracted by the coffee maker

“So so cool.” Said Ned, still clearly giddy over the night before’s proceedings.

Mrs Leeds placed down a stack of pancakes in front of the boys and Peter felt his stomach turn a little. Mrs Leeds made the best pancakes, don’t get him wrong. When his regular enhanced appetite was in full effect, not a scrap would be left on the plate. He just wasn’t all that hungry this morning. But, out of politeness, he ate one and a strip of turkey bacon just to show her he appreciated it.

But of course, Mrs Leeds, being Mrs Leeds, noticed his decrease appetite immediately.

“Are you alright, Peter?” She asked, cocking her head to the side in the concerned way Peter assumed mothers did

“Fine.” He replied, “Just tired, one of the younger kids is sick and she was coughing all night.”

Which wasn’t entirely a lie. Peter couldn’t escape till quite late the night before, as Casey had kept Kong awake until 2am. And Peter had quickly dodged the eight-year-old that morning, as well as her sniffling roommate, in order to avoid the same fate.

Mrs Leeds placed her hand on his forehead and frowned.

“You don’t feel warm. _Yet_.” She observed, “You sure you’re not coming down with anything, sweetie?”

“I’m fine. Promise.”

“That’s what he said lasssttt timmmeeee…” Muttered Ned, in a sing-song voice

Peter shot Ned a glare, who smirked at him through his glass of orange juice. Ned had a habit of instigating his mother’s motherly side purely for his own entertainment.

“Mrs Leeds, I _promise_.” Said Peter, ignoring Ned

“Okay.” She said, in a tone that did not read that she entirely believed him, “You know I only ask because I worry.”

“It’s fine, Mrs Leeds. You don’t have to.”

“Peter, I’m a mom. Asking a parent not to worry is like asking Ned to stop sleeping with a Star Wars night light.”

_“Mom!”_

“What?”

…

A few days following the incident with Iron Man and the Chitauri weapons, Peter finally saw resolution.

The man behind the weapons, Adrian Toomes, had been apprehended as well as what was left of his gaggles of criminals. The articles spoke mainly about how Iron Man had so expertly deduced who was behind the operation after analysing potential individuals who might have had access to the alien substance and apprehended individuals he’d found with the weapons, eventually managing to follow the trail back to Toomes. The articles quoted briefly that Tony had stated he had received an ‘anonymous tip’ regarding the weapons. But that was it.

Which, despite Peter’s desire to keep Spider-Man a low level hero, kind of pissed him off. Not a single credit to the web head who maybe could have used some positive press, seeing as how the daily bugle loved to bash him? Seriously?

A few articles also mentioned Toomes’s disgraced family, which included a girl from Peter’s school. Peter hadn’t known her very well, she was a senior, after all. But Ned had. She had been the captain of Ned’s decathlon team and his long-time crush. The whole situation regarding her dad had been very hard on her family and had resulted in them moving out of state, which crushed Ned. And left his decathlon team temporarily floundering.

Ned had asked Peter a few times to join but he’d always politely declined. After finding out about his home life and the responsibilities he had, Ned had stopped asking.

But not everyone had.

It had been just over a week since Peter had started his Stark internship and his mixed feelings towards the billionaire were becoming more and more convoluted. He was just so irritatingly _nice_ to him. It was like every shady comment or underhanded compliment or correction Peter threw at him was entertaining and endearing for the guy. Pepper had mentioned to him fleetingly on his way out the day prior that, between her and him, Tony really liked being around people who challenged him. He hadn’t had that in a while.

It had also been just over a week since the Katzenberg plague had begun to storm the house and it had taken out almost every resident. Peter, as always, was the last to be hit. It wasn’t until Kong had been sick for three days that Peter had woken up with a head pounding like a jackhammer and a nose running like a leaky faucet.

And, of course, he’d still soldiered on to school because, hell, he knew that would be a lot easier than staying in the plague house.

Ned had just produced a tupawear container of chicken soup from his mother when an unexpected third person sat down at their lunch table.

“Peter Parker, right?” Said the strangely dressed girl, with the curly hair, “From AP physics? And math? And English?”

Peter blinked at her, a little dazed by the odd girl that had never really bothered to speak to him before. No one, outside of Ned and the occasional bully, really did. But he’d always admired her. She always spoke up in class, never backed down from what she believed in and she was really effortlessly herself. One couldn’t help but envy her, almost.

“Yes…?” He responded, doubtfully

“Have you ever thought about expanding your extra curriculars?” She said, leaning into the conversation

Ned gave an over dramatic sigh.

“I already told you he can’t do it, Michelle.” Said Ned, exasperatedly, “Can you just drop it?”

She shook her head defiantly.

“Not until I hear it from the horse’s mouse.”

“So, I’m a horse in this scenario?”

“It’s a saying. I thought you were supposed to be smart?”

“I am.”

“Then why don’t you join the academic decathlon team?” She said, with a triumphant smile, clearly very proud of her segue

Peter’s head gave a slight twinge. He hadn’t realised how loud the odd girl could be when she was determined.

“Don’t have the time.” He said, with a shrug

“But you don’t do _any_ extra curriculars whatsoever.” She pressed, “And you’re straight out of the door as soon as the bell rings. What could you possibly be occupying your time with that’s so important?”

“ _Drop it_ , Michelle.” Said Ned, warningly

“Maybe let your friend speak for himself, for once, Ned!” She shot back, glaring at him

“I have an internship.” Said Peter, eager to stop any impending fight between the two supposed teammates, “It’s after school and it takes up a lot of my time.”

“What sort of internship?” She asked, suspiciously

“At Stark industries.” He said, before Ned could open his mouth, “Just PA stuff. But, you know, it’s Stark. So, it’s kind of strict.”

Michelle sat back and squinted her eyes, studying his expression for any tell of a potential lie.

“How does one even acquire an internship at a place like Stark Industries?” She asked, finally

“Principal Morita put me forward for it.” He said, drumming his fingers on the table, “I don’t really know why. Guess they liked whatever was in that application, though, because it got me the job.”

Michelle looked perplexed. And then she gave a frown.

“Why didn’t Morita put _me_ forward for a Stark internship?” She said, mainly to herself more than anything, “I’m a honor’s student. I’m the captain of the decathlon team. I founded the social justice society _and_ the women for women club.”

“Well, he didn’t.” Snapped Ned, evidently irritated at her presence, “He put Peter forward for it. And clearly that was the right choice considering he _got_ it. Now, are you done harassing my friend? You’ve already bugged me about him enough in practice. Are you satisfied now?”

Michelle’s face flushed a furious red and she glared at Ned in a way that would probably leave even the likes of Thor himself shaking in his boots.

But Ned simply matched her glare until she, reluctantly, collected her things and stood up.

“Nice to formally meet you, Parker.” She said, before shifting her glare back to Ned, “Leeds, first alternate is calling your name.”

And then she marched off, head held high in the way she seemingly always did.

“God, that girl!” Said Ned, stabbing at the gross cafeteria food, “I swear, she’s obsessed with you. Hasn’t stop asking about you since that time you gave that book report on the grapes of wrath. Why can’t she just leave it alone?”

“It’s fine, Ned. She’s fine.” Reassured Peter, a little taken aback by the normally cheery Ned’s sudden hostility, “She seems cool, in her own way. Besides, she’s your teammate.”

“Team captain.” Corrected Ned, staring glumly into space, “Liz has been team captain for over a year and suddenly _poof!_ Her dad’s a criminal and she’s gone and Michelle thinks she can just waltz on in and take her place. It’s not fair.”

Ah. So that’s what it was all about.

“Ned, I’m sorry about Liz.” He said, in a smaller voice, “I know you really liked her.”

Ned gave a nonchalant shrug that was clearly extremely forced and held a stoic expression.

“It’s fine.”

Which might have been taken as a true sentiment, if Ned had been speaking to anyone else. But Peter knew from personal experience; ‘it’s fine’ was a lie. It _always_ was.

…

By the time he was back in Tony Stark’s lab, that afternoon, Peter Parker felt about ready to curl up and fall asleep on the couch in the corner that was loudly beckoning him.

But he didn’t. Because he had a job to do. And the last thing he wanted to do was show any kind of weakness to Tony Stark.

However, the man himself seemed exhausted, too. He had bags under his eyes that could be designer and was practically drowning himself in coffee. But Peter had an inkling as to why that was.

“So, you had a big night last night, huh?” Peter finally remarked, as he handed Tony another tool

“You can say that again.” Said Tony, with a sigh, “The battle of New York, I swear. It won’t stop following me.”

“I don’t think it’s stopped following any New Yorker.” Peter pointed out

Tony gave a slight chuckle.

“Funny.” He said, “Someone else said something along those lines to me not too long ago.”

“Who?” Asked Peter, though he already knew the answer

Tony gave a shrug.

“Just someone.”

Peter turned and coughed into the crook of his elbow, eliciting a mildly concerned look and an eyebrow raise from Tony.

“ _Just someone?_ ” Said Peter, finally, “Just someone like your ‘anonymous tip’ _just someone?”_

The billionaire gave a sigh.

“God, you and Pepper and this anonymous tip!” He lamented, “Look, I’m gonna tell you just like I told her; the guy doesn’t want to be named.”

“How do you know that?” Pressed Peter, “I mean, if you built something based on another scientist’s research, it’s your responsibility to credit them, right? No one likes an Edison.”

Tony gave another small laugh, shooting Peter an amused grin.

“God, you’re such a nerd.”

“Whatever.”

“Hey, so am I!” He said, raising his hands in defence, “It’s a good thing. And anyway, if you had spoken to the guy, you would have got it. We had a talk. Or rather, I was talked _at_. He gave this whole speech about wanting to be a low level hero, how he wanted no part in any of this alien business. I’m just honoring his wishes.”

“Did he ask not to be named, though?”

“Do you ever, like, switch off?” Tony asked, shaking his head, “For even a second?”

“Nope.”

“Thought so.” He muttered

Only he didn’t seem irritated. That’s what was so frustrating about this whole thing. Despite how he tried, Tony Stark never seemed irritated with him. Only amused. Or intrigued.

Peter directed his attention back the new set of blue prints Tony had asked him to look over. He did his absolute best to focus on the numbers and drawings in front of him but it all seemed to start to blur together. God, he felt like shit. And he was so _tired_. Normally, he’d be doing his best to point out to the billionaire any little flaw he could find, even if it was as small as a slight grammatical error. But he found himself falling silent in what could only be described as a zombified state.

“Hey kid, you can head home if you want.” Said Tony, snapping him out of his daze, “We can pick up where we left off tomorrow. Or the next day.”

“No, it’s fine.” Said Peter, refocusing himself on the blue prints

“Well, you don’t look so hot.” Tony commented, “Look, go home, get some rest, return from the dead and you can finish going over those another time.”

Peter shook his head. Which did not help his foggy brain.

“It’s fine.”

“I’m sure your foster parents wouldn’t agree.” Tony pointed out

Which caught Peter off guard. Tony had given the impression when he first met him that he knew nothing of Peter’s background. So, it seemed that the man had taken it upon himself to learn about it. And Peter couldn’t quite place how he felt about that.

“I’m sure they’d be more upset at me coming home early and not finishing a full day’s work.” Said Peter, thinking of how Nick and Nancy had happily sent majority of the plague-infested kids in their care off to school that morning

“You’re certain?”

“Trust me, no matter how crappy I may or may not feel, it’s a lot easier being here than there.” Said Peter

He regretted it as soon as he said it. He wanted nothing more than to not voluntarily invite this man into his world outside of the internship more than was necessary whatsoever. Not until he was ready to confront him. And that day was not today.

Tony frowned at him for a moment and then gave a defeated sigh.

“Fine.” He said, eventually, “But at least take a break. Go lie down on the couch for a minute, the blueprints will still be here when you’re done.”

Peter shook his head, again.

“It’s fin-“

“If you say ‘it’s fine’ one more time I _will_ fire you.” Said Tony, in a tone that read more concerned than threatening

“Then: _it’s okay_.”

“Amazing how even when you’re in full zombie mode, you still have it in you to be a smartass.” He commented, “Go lie down. That’s not a request. You’re my intern and you will do as I tell you.”

Peter glared at him for moment but the billionaire’s demeanour remained unwavering. Eventually, Peter, slowly, stood up and dragged himself over to the couch.

His eyes had barely been closed for thirty seconds before he felt himself start to drift off to sleep. At the time he wasn’t sure if it were real or if he’d already slipped off into some dream but he could have sworn he felt something being thrown over him and heard a familiar voice mutter:

“Edison. Of all things to call me. _Edison_.”

After what felt like a quick minute, Peter was awoken by someone gently shaking his shoulder.

“Mr Parker, Happy is waiting to take you home.” Said the kind voice of Pepper Potts

Peter blinked a few times before sitting up. And then he realised, he hadn’t been dreaming at all.

At some point, someone really had taken the time to drape a blanket over his sleeping form. A blanket that happened to have an Iron man print.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was really interesting to write, figuring out what might have happened with the Tombes situation if Tony had actually taken Peter seriously was something I wanted to explore for a while. It was also super interesting to figure out how different Peter's life might have been if he came from different circumstances. This chapter is a bit all over the place because all the little sections are super short sporadic but I hope you enjoyed it, nonetheless.  
> Thank you for all the lovely comments, every single one of them makes me so motivated to continue writing this!  
> Don't forget to leave a comment if you enjoyed this chapter <3  
> Have a happy holiday season, guys!  
> xxx


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is the same chapter that was posted yesterday. When I posted it, I wasn’t 100% happy with it. Especially the scene with Clint. But I wanted to put it up because I felt like I kept you waiting for too long. However, after having this nagging in the back of my brain and a certain comment that confirmed it, I decided I wanted it to be better because I knew I could do better. I hate when authors half-ass chapters purely for the sake of an update and I don’t want to do that to you guys. So, this is the same chapter that was posted yesterday with the exact same plot and characters and resolutions and conflicts and opinions but it’s better. And if you guys don’t mind, there might be more of a gap between updates now just so I can get these chapters just right. Because I hate not feeling 100% happy with my work and I’m sure you’re all the same. I hope you enjoy this version of the chapter.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: The accords and all our opinions on them are messy business in this fandom and I don’t want to incite any of those debates in the comments. All the opinions regarding the accords and things surrounding them within this chapter and this story are NOT my own. They are based off how the characters within this story might feel about them based on their circumstances and experiences within this particular narrative. Some characters feel strongly about certain things due to where they view the situation from and they may or may not be right. This isn’t a story about the accords nor are the accords going to be a major part of the narrative. They’re just a part of this chapter. So let's all be chill. This is just a dumb fanfiction.

When he had left that day, he had a new message on his phone from an unknown number.

Unknown: Hey kid

Unknown: It’s Tony

Unknown: Thought I should give you my number in case I ever need to reach you asap

Unknown: Also call me if you ever need anything

He hadn’t saved the number. But he didn’t delete the messages. He’d often find himself intensely studying them whenever they so much as crossed his mind briefly. And again, like with almost every interaction he’d had with the man, the more he thought about them, the more confused he felt. Every so often he’d have a little break in his wall, where he’d allow himself to wonder whether or not he was really a bad guy at all. And then he’d think of all he had had and all he lost and quickly build it up higher. But the little breaks kept happening more and more, the more time he spent with him. And he was scared that, at some point, he’d stop being able to fix them.

Peter lifted his head from his phone and checked the clock on the wall. Still twenty minutes till lunch was over and English began. Peter had successfully infected Ned with the Katzenburg plague, so he’d stayed home that day. And without Ned, there was really no point going to the cafeteria. Who would he sit with, anyway?

“Oh.” Said a familiar voice

Peter redirected his attention to the door and saw Michelle standing there, brown paper bag in hand.

“I didn’t realise you were in here.” She said, going to back out the door

“Wait, Michelle.” Said Peter, recalling their interaction from a few days prior

He’d been feeling a little guilty about the whole thing ever since.

Michelle paused but didn’t say anything. She just stared at him, suspiciously.

“I’m… I’m sorry about the other day.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck, “Ned is uh… Ned is a little upset about the whole Liz situation. He took it out on you a little. That wasn’t cool. So, sorry. On his behalf.”

Michelle lingered for a moment before finally closing the door behind her and placing her lunch down on the desk in front of him.

“Where is your other half today?” She asked

“Out sick.”

“So, you decided to hide?”

“Not  _hide_.” Said Peter, “It’s just the cafeteria is really loud. And I don’t really like that. When Ned’s there it’s fine, you know, we’re normally talking about something nerdy and it kind of distracts from all the noise. But when it’s just me, it’s a bit too much, if you get what I mean? All of the… Loud?”

She didn’t respond for a second and Peter became rapidly concerned that he had seriously overshared.

“I get that.” She said, as opened his mouth to back pedal, “It’s totally obnoxious in there. That’s why I normally eat in an empty classroom.”

“You know, you’re not really allowed to, right?” He said, as she pulled out a thermos of soup

She shrugged.

“No one’s caught me yet.”

“If they did though-“ He said, with a smirk, “Getting in trouble for eating soup. Lamest detention ever.”

“Not as lame as getting detention for watching  _The Last Jedi_  trailer under the table in class.”

“How do you know about that?”

“I’m in your physics class, genius.”

“Oh yeah.” Said Peter, feeling a little embarrassed for forgetting, “Sorry. I should notice you more.”

She gave a shrug and took a sip of her soup.

“I do my best not to be noticed.”

“Me too.”

“I’ve noticed.”

He caught her eye contact for a second and gave a small laugh. He really  _should_  notice her more.

“If you ever get bored of being on your own, you can always come hang with me and Ned, you know.” He offered, as casually as he could

Though, he realised a long time ago, the more you try to act nonchalant, the less nonchalant you seem.

“Hmmm.” She said, raising an eyebrow, “I’m not sure how Ned would feel about that.”

“He’ll come around.” Said Peter, batting his hand, “Sit with us at lunch. It would reduce your likeliness of the lamest detention ever.”

“Alternatively-“ She said, before smirking again, “You could join the decathlon team.”

Peter gave a sigh. But not one of frustration or of annoyance. It felt almost like the punchline to a funny little conversation.

“You’re not going to drop that, are you?”

“Nope.”

…

Butterflies are a strange thing. Peter always noted this. Because he was a logical, serious, forward-thinking person. But, no matter what, when the butterflies started swirling in his stomach, all he knew of himself would go out the window and he would go to the greatest lengths to keep the butterflies flying and flying forever.

Like when he was ten and he lived in the Masterson foster home with five other kids his age. And they lived next door to a boy called Finn. And Finn was the _coolest_  person Peter had ever met. He had the most fantastic hair that Peter had ever seen, perfectly large beautiful bouncing curls and the kindest, most endearing smile that he thought he might ever come across again. And the most daring and excitable brown eyes that made Peter think he could do anything. And he rode the  _coolest_  bright, red bicycle. Peter was convinced, at the young age of ten, that there could not possibly be anyone more terrific on the face of the planet.

Finn was the first person to ever give him butterflies.

The butterflies were so triumphant that they convinced Peter that he could ride that bright red bike, even though he knew he didn’t know how. And he rode it right into a shrub and cut his knee on a piece of stray glass.

Peter had bit his lip and forced himself not to cry but he knew Finn could tell he wanted to.

“You don’t have to suck it up, Pete. Don’t worry.” Finn had said, kneeling next to him, “Mom always says this makes everything better.”

Then Finn had kissed his knee and although, logically, Peter knew there was no way that alone could take pain away, the butterflies fluttered so furiously in that moment that he forgot all about the stinging in his leg.

The next week, Peter turned Eleven, and that meant he had aged out of the Masterson foster home and had to move out to his next home. Peter remembered so clearly Finn following the car that took him away on his brilliant bright red bike, his hair blowing in the wind and waving ferociously as his figure got smaller and smaller till Peter couldn’t see him anymore. That was the last time he ever saw Finn.

The only thing he could think off that felt worse than when Peter saw Finn’s figure disappear in the distance was when the policeman told him about his aunt and uncle. It wasn’t quite a painful as that, but it was as close as he hoped he would ever get.

He still thought of Finn from time to time and the feeling of the butterflies that he was convinced only he could give him. Little things reminded Peter of him. Like bicycles and kind smiles. He still had the scar on his knee.

However, when he spoke to Michelle that afternoon, the butterflies had resurfaced after being dormant for almost five years.

And Peter felt both giddy with excitement and dread at the same time. Because the feeling of butterflies was the most wonderful feeling in the world but he knew they couldn’t last. Nothing good ever lasts. That’s what life had taught him time and time again.

He was so in his own head when he wandered into the foyer of Mr Stark’s headquarters that he almost missed F.R.I.D.A.Y’s greeting.

“Good afternoon, Mr Parker.” She said, brightly, “Mr Stark in currently in a very important meeting. He told me to inform you to wait right here and that he will be done as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, F.R.I.D.A.Y.” Said Peter

And then he paused in thought, wondering how ridiculous his life had so quickly become.

“Why am I thanking an A.I?” He asked himself aloud, shaking his head

“Because I’m assuming you weren’t raised in a barn.”

The third voice made Peter jump, as he assumed he was alone in the foyer. However, the voice seemed familiar. He turned to the source and his suspicions were confirmed, as he saw Clint Barton aka Hawkeye sprawled, lazily, across the couch that he normally waited on.

“Oh.” He said, “You’re here.”

“Nice to meet you too.” Said Clint, scoffing and shaking his head

Peter didn’t bother to reply and, instead, went and sat down on the couch next to Clint and started rifling through his backpack for some homework to do while he waited.

He finally decided on his history homework when the gruff voice interrupted his thoughts again.

“What’s Stark hanging with some kid for anyway?” He asked

Peter really wanted nothing more than to not talk to this man right now.

“I’m his intern.”

And then he flipped open his text book.

“Company intern or personal intern?”

“Personal.” Said Peter, skimming through his class notes

“What’s that like?”

“It’s a job.” Said Peter, flatly, still trying and failing to concentrate on the fourth presidential election

Clint chuckled.

“Not a Stark fan?”

“Like I said; it’s a job.”

“You’re a funny kid.”

“Do you not see me trying to study here?” Said Peter, finally, looking up from his text books at the nosy avenger

“Well, shit, kid.” Scoffed Clint, “Most teenagers would be psyched to have a conversation with hawkeye.”

Peter shrugged.

“I think most would prefer Black Widow.”

“Ouch.”

“Mr Stark didn’t tell me about any meeting…” Peter mused, mostly to himself

“Tony’s an impromptu kinda guy.” Said Clint, with a shrug, “Makes a lot of rash decision, if you haven’t noticed.”

“What’s this meeting, anyway?” Asked Peter, finally, giving up on his attempts at school work, “I can only be here for a few hours, Mr Stark knows that. If I’m going to be waiting here the whole time, there’s no point.”

“Oh, you’re going to be here a while, kid.” Said Clint, shaking his head

“Why?”

“Was supposed to be a little makeshift peace meeting between the old team. Then the accords came up. Then world war 3 started. As always.” He said

“Why aren’t you in there?”

“Because I’ve made it known how I feel about the whole accords business.” He said, “When the conversation shifted, I said adios. I’m done being caught in the middle of the Stark/Rogers firing line.”

 _You and the rest of world_  thought Peter.

“The Sokovia Accords?” Asked Peter, even though he already knew the answer

“What others accords could they possibly be yapping about?”

“We learnt about the Sokovia Accords in school.” Said Peter, leaning back against the couch, “I don’t get what’s so complicated about it.”

“What do you mean?” Asked Clint, carefully, “This is a sensitive topic here, kid.”

“I mean, it’s pretty simple if you’ve got half a brain or half a heart.” He said, with a shrug, “I don’t agree with Mr Stark on a lot of things. But with this; he’s on the right side. The accords are messy, sure. Parts of them really don’t work and they definitely need some heavy revision but the overall intent behind them couldn’t be more right.”

“The accords are more than just messy.” Clint pointed out, “Have you ever taken the time to read through them?”

“Have you?”

Clint leaned back and folding his arms, looking at Peter with an expression that read both annoyance and amusement.

“You’re kind of a smart ass, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been told.”

“Ok, Tiny Tim.” Clint said, “Enlighten me. What do you think this ‘overall intent’ is?”

“What do you think it is?” Peter shot back, raising an eyebrow

Clint gave a short laugh.

“When you get talking, you really get talking, huh?” He commented, “Okay, I’ll play your game. It goes against so much of what the concept of the vigilante stands for. It’s about policing the avengers. Allowing government intervention allows government control. And that’s when things get complicated and we could be manipulated in ways we don’t want to be. And trust me, you don’t want that to happen. I don’t want to be used as their propaganda. Steve already knows about that.”

“Oh, I’ve seen the PSAs.”

“The PSAs are golden.”

“But you’re wrong about the intent.” Said Peter, folding his arms also, “It’s not about control, it’s more about responsibility.”

And then Clint scratched at his stubble, suddenly seeming a lot more weathered and exhausted than before. It seemed to Peter like this tough conversation might have happened so often that it had aged the man. Barton and Stark, alike.

“That’s the angle Tony keeps trying to push.” Said Clint, dropping his eye contact to the floor, “And I get it. I really do. I understand the stakes of what we do. Stark told us a story when he first introduced this whole accords business… I can’t say it doesn’t weigh on my mind. Tony’s intentions are good. They always are. But they don’t always turn out the way he thinks they will.”

Peter couldn’t pretend as if Clint didn’t have a point there. Tony Stark was infamous for good intentions gone awry. Peter knew that all too well.

“Do you have a family, Mr Barton?” Peter said, after thinking on what Clint had said

Clint looked at him, a little confused but he answered, nevertheless.

“Yes, I do.”

“Kids?”

“Three. Two boys and a girl.”

“Do you love them, Mr Barton?”

“More than anything.”

“Then I guess, if something were to happen to them – god forbid – they were hurt or worse, you’d be pretty pissed, huh?” Said Peter

Clint gave a sigh, obviously picking up where he was going.

“Kid, _I know_.” He said, “God, believe me I _do_. There’s not a time where a kid gets hurt in the fallout of whatever the hell went down that I don’t think of my own and how god damned _pissed_ I would be if it were them. But it’s not a simple as just seeing it like that. I wish it could be.”

“But _it is_. It’s your _job_ to see it like that. You can try and ignore it or minimalize it all you want, Mr Barton, but the fact of the matter is you guys have hurt people. You’ve killed them.” Continued Peter, “In the name of good, sure. I guess you think the ends justify the means, huh?”

“That’s a very bold accusation to make. Look, there are some things you just don’t understand unless you have been a part of it. I hate to be blunt and I know you’re just a kid and there are things you won’t understand until you’re older but the fact of the matter is- ” Clint stated, sitting up straighter, his mind seemingly racing a mile a minute, “I was there, at the battle of New York. You weren’t. I saw what we were up against. You didn’t. We stopped the evil bastard. You’re alive. You’re welcome. That might sound harsh but at the end of the day, that’s the truth. I hope someday you can understand all we do is for the better of you.”

“But I was there, just in a different way. I’ve lived in New York my whole life, Mr Barton. I’ve been in and out a few times but New York is my home.” Said Peter, “You saved us that day, yes. But not all of us. You got to go home to your lovely family whilst my city had to pick up the pieces. There were bodies on the ground that you didn’t even stop to think about.”

“You have a lot of nerve to think any of us go home to sweet dreams and sugar plums after any of that-“

“People aren’t chess pieces, Mr Barton.” Continued Peter, though he knew his aunt would have scolded him for interrupting and, admittedly, not listening to an adult when talking, “This isn’t a game. You can’t just sacrifice them in the name of winning. People aren’t disposable. You need to stop looking at yourselves as kings and queens and us as pawns.”

“Ok, that’s enough.” Said Clint, sitting upright and looking at him intensely, “You’re making very bold statements about things you don't fully understand. You learned about this in school. We lived it. You have no idea how we feel about anything or about what and who was lost. We deal with that loss every day. Don’t you ever have the audacity to think we don’t. I sound like a broken record here but the simplest and, frankly, the _kindes_ t way I can put this is that there are things you just don’t understand, at your age. Right now, you are making rash arguments and unfair accusations. I know you think you know everything as a teenager – trust me, I did too – but you really don’t. When you’re older, when you’ve grown a little more in this world, you will. Trust me.”

Peter was quiet for a moment, wondering how exactly it was best to phrase what he felt he needed to say next. Barton made fair points. Evidently, nothing was as black and white as any of the class room discussions had made it seem. But Peter knew that…. Didn’t he?

As much as Peter may not have understood some things, there were things he most definitely did. And Barton of all people should have known.

“You love your family, Mr Barton?” He asked, in a much calmer tone, making an effort to dial down his accusatory tendencies

“Like I said; more than anything.”

“You tell them that every day?”

“Of course.”

“Good.” Said Peter, nodding, “That’s good. I’m glad you have a nice family, Mr Barton.”

Clint didn’t respond. He simply nodded, looking at him curiously. He knew there was something else coming. Peter could tell.

“I have a mom and dad. And an Aunt and Uncle.” He said, “And they’re the best people I’ve ever known. That’s my family.”

“I’m glad you gave a nice family, too.” Said Clint, in a much softer tone

“Thing is, I don’t have them anymore.” He said, focusing his stare on his backpack, discarded on the coffee table, “My parents died in a plane crash when I was six. Faulty engine. It was awful. But my aunt and uncle took me in. And they filled their shoes as best they could. They were amazing.”

Clint remained silent.

“But then they died too.” Continued Peter, “Just about a year later. Got caught in the fallout of one of you guys’s little hero ventures. But you saved the day so it was fine. They died. They were the only family I had left. I was seven. But the kings and queens won, so it's all good, right?”

Peter finally raised his gaze to the surly avenger who was looking at him with a sort of paled horror.

“It’s great that you have a lovely family.” Said Peter, “I did too. Now I have a coat closet room I share with a six foot four seventeen-year-old who snores. And two foster parents who couldn’t care less if I lived or died. But that’s just this month. I’ve been in too many homes to count, some I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. I’ve had dozens of couldn’t-care-less adults who I’ve been passed around from since the night a police officer told me what happened to my amazing aunt and uncle. You can tell me you think of the people who died because of you all you want but it’s not just about the people who you killed. It’s about the people they left behind, as well. If you were one of those people, Mr Barton, I think you’d be pretty pissed that this is even a debate, too.”

Clint seemed at a loss for words. And rightfully so, Peter thought. Few things angered him more than when adults patronised him like he couldn’t possibly understand the big scary world we live in. But he understood it all too well, he’d understood since before there were two digits in his age.

“Did you tell your family you loved them?” Asked Clint, after what felt like a year of silence

“Not enough.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry’s not enough.”

“I know.”

 _Then sign the fucking accords_  thought Peter. But he didn’t need to say it. He knew the statement hung in tension between the two.

“I lost my parents when I was young, too.” Said Clint, eventually, “My dad’s fault, the goddamn drunk. Brother and I got sent to an orphanage. Ended up doing carnival stuff, that’s where I picked up the bow. I didn’t lose my brother but I might as well have.”

“That’s shitty.”

“Eloquent. But yeah. Shitty.” Said Clint, nodding, “I was so angry. I _still_ am. And I know better than anyone that a kid who understands real loss is a kid who understands more about the world than most. But even with that in mind, I stand by what I told you. There’s still _so much_ you don’t get yet. And you can trust me on that. I’ve been where you are, I’ve been angry. I don’t want to hark on at you because I know you’re not just some dumb kid and I know there’s a lot of justifiable fuel to your feelings. But no matter how many board game metaphors or big, extravagant statements and dramatic reveals you make, you’re still only seeing this from one side.”

“So are you.”

“I’m not. And I know you’re too smart a kid to think I am.” Clint finished, staring at him with a hardened yet compassionate expression

And, as much as Peter hated to admit it to himself, the man was right.

“Anyway.” Said Clint, “Moving along from that controversial topic, you mentioned you’re New Yorker?”

“Born and raised.”

“Where abouts?”

“Queens, mostly.”

“Nice.” He said, “How old are you, Tim?”

“Fifteen.” He said, “How old are you, Mr Barton?”

Clint looked at him for a moment and then burst out laughing. Which – admittedly – made Peter smile a little. Even though the joke wasn’t really all that funny. It wasn’t even really a joke.

“You’re kind of a little shit, huh?”

“I’ve been told.”

“What is that – History?” He said, glancing over at the notes that remained open on the coffee table

“The United States presidential election of 1800.”

“The one where Alexander Hamilton ended Aaron Burr?”

Peter nodded.

“And then Burr quite literally ended him.”

“American history.” Said Clint, folding his arms and shaking his head, “In my day we only had text books to learn about that stuff. You kids get to run around with your hip-hop musicals now, making it all cool and shit. It’s not fair.”

 “Mr Stark has asked me to inform you that the meeting is over, Mr Parker.” Announced F.R.I.D.A.Y, interrupting the conversation that had, thankfully, taken a lighter turn.

“Thank you, F.R.I.D.A.Y.” Said Tony, as he walked into the room, “Better late than never, I suppose.”

“Tony.” Said Clint, with a nod, “I’m guessing it ended the same way?”

“As always.” Said the billionaire, with a sigh, “I see you’ve met my intern.”

“I have.” Said Clint, nodding, “I never caught your name, Tim.”

“Peter.” He said, standing up, “Am I good to head down to the lab, Mr Stark?”

“Knock yourself out, Kid.” Said Tony, “I’ll be down in a minute, just gonna see old grumpy cat here out.”

“I can see myself out.” Said Clint, as Peter scurried off to Tony’s lab, “I have to wait for Natasha, anyway. She’s my ride home.”

“As always.” Said Tony, watching as the elevator doors closed on his intern, “That kid, I swear. The biggest little smart ass you could ever meet.”

“Oh, I could tell.”

“But he’s got a good heart. Even better brain, you know he had the nerve to correct my math on his first day? And he was  _right_.” Continued Tony, with a fond little smile

“Careful, Tony.” Said Clint, teasingly, “You’re sounding awfully dad-like.”

“Ew.”

“Embrace it, Tones.” He said, shaking his head, “We all get there eventually.”

“Not likely.”

“Where did you find him, anyway?” Asked Clint, as casually as he could

He carefully studying Tony’s face as he talked about the kid, wondering if this whole internship thing might possibly be a rash and precarious catalyst for the man’s massive guilt complex.

“Pepper found him.” Said Tony, “Doesn’t have the best background but he’s quick as a whip. I’m concerned he’s going to give me a run for my money one day.”

“So, you guys talk a lot?”

“Mostly he just makes snarky comments or asks me homework questions.” Said Tony, with a shrug

“He tell you about his background?”

“No, he’s uh – he’s not really a fan of the personal stuff.” He said, rubbing at the back of his neck, “Pepper told me. It was all in the application. I’ve tried to get him to talk about it more – that’s what they say you should do with these things. But he’s pretty stubborn, the most I get is the odd comment here and there.”

As much as he didn’t want to be the one to tell him, Clint didn’t know when he might see the man again. And this wasn’t something he could just walk away with. He gave a sigh and looked at the clearly oblivious avenger with a serious expression.

“Tony, I was speaking to him about things.” He explained, “And a few things caught my attention that I think you need to consider.”

“If he was rude, I’m sorry.” Said Tony, “Kid doesn’t know when to be quiet, sometimes.”

There was no gentle way to put it.

“Did you know his aunt and uncle were killed in the fallout of an avengers related incident?” Asked Clint

Tony’s face fell in a way Clint hadn’t seen for a very long time.

“I didn’t.” Said Tony, in a voice much smaller than normal, “That – that wasn’t in the application.”

Clint felt his heart break a little for the man. As much as he tried to mask it, his face was the picture of complete devastation.

“We got in a little accords debate and he mentioned it.” Said Clint, “Caught me off guard a little. He seemed like he’s harbouring a lot of anger about it. I mean, justifiably so. I thought you should know, in case he never told you.”

Tony seemed a thousand miles away in thought, probably wondering what on earth he was possibly going to say to the boy when he eventually followed him down to his lab.

“There’s something else, Tones.” Said Clint, trying to refocus the billionaire’s attention

“What?” He asked, “Fucking hell, Clint. How on earth did you get that out of him?”

“That’s not important. What’s important now is that he mentioned his foster parents in passing. I don’t know, it’s probably my dad brain switching on and this might be a slight overreaction, but I don’t like the sound of them.” He said, “He didn’t say much, just that he didn’t think they’d care if he lived or died. Which doesn’t sound like a situation a kid should be in.”

Tony was silent for a moment.

“He has mentioned a few concerning things before.” He said, finally, “They seem a little neglectful.”

“Then try and find out a little more about them. About that whole living situation. I know he’s a little stand-offish but you really need to _try_.” Said Clint, seriously, “Tony, if there’s even a small chance you think that could be a bad household he’s living in, it’s your responsibility as an adult to contact the right people to have him taken out of there, do you understand?”

“I’m not a child, Clint.” Said Tony, “I understand.”

“Good.”

Silence.

“I know that was hard to hear.”

“Yeah.” Said Tony, letting out a long breath, “But I’m grateful you told me.”

…

"I see you kicked the cold."

"Yeah." Said Peter, concentrating hard on the tech in front of him, "I've got a pretty good immune system. They always pass in a couple of days. My friend Ned isn't as lucky, though."

"It's a miracle I didn't catch that awful thing."

"Well, you didn't let me do any work with you for three days." Peter pointed out, "You and your fiancée ganged up on me."

Tony chuckled.

"The best cure for a cold is rest."

"Yes. You both informed me. A lot."

“You got my number, right kid?”

Peter looked up from the tinkering Tony had assigned him and recalled the messages he had spent too long staring at.

“Yup.”

“Good.” Said Tony, “You can call me whenever, you know. If you ever need anything. Really.”

Peter wondered where this might be heading.

“… Thanks, Mr Stark.”

“That house they got you in now-” Tony continued, with a fake air casualness, “You like that alright?”

Peter shrugged.

“It’s a house.” He stated, plainly

Peter could have sworn he saw the man grimace.

“What’s your foster parent’s name again?” He said, rifling through a drawer, “I think you mentioned it before, it slipped my mind.”

“I didn’t.”

“Well, should probably know so I can put them down as an emergency contact.” Tony continued, “Precautionary, boring stuff, you know?”

Peter looked at him, puzzled. The man must know he was too smart and too well acquainted to not know the classic adult casual concern act. Principal Morita did it every time he called Peter into his office. A lot of his teachers did it, too. Ned’s mom had her own much less subtle version of it.

He had not, however, expected it from the infamously cold-hearted Tony Stark. Then again, the same Tony Stark had banished him to a spare bedroom to sleep off his sickness the past few days he had shown up for work.

“Katzenberg.” He said, eventually, “But you know it’s all fine, right? I mean, it’s not perfect but it’s not bad. The Katzenbergs aren’t the worst foster parents I’ve had by far.”

Tony cringed again and Peter noticed, despite the man’s attempts to hide it.

They worked in silence for a few minutes before Tony spoke again.

“Hey, kid, your aunt and-“

“Can we not?” Said Peter, quickly, “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Then we won’t talk about it.”

“Good.”

Silence again.

“You know, Pepper got the strangest phone call this afternoon, concerning you.” He said, a little smirk crawling on his face, “A young lady, seemed very concerned at how I might be depriving you of precious after school time. She suggested I might run my internship programme with a little more concern for the extra curriculars of my applicants.”

Peter felt his face grow furiously red.

“ _Michelle._ ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel SO much happier with how this chapter reads now. I hope you do too. This is my last update of 2017 so I want to wish you all a happy new year and I hope that 2018 brings you all the wonderful things you deserve! Thank you all so much for how supportive you have been of this story and all the lovely comments and constructive criticism you have given me. They all motivate me so much.  
> Little shit Peter is so fun to write, despite how I love the sweeter canon depiction of him in the MCU. And his interactions with other characters are so interesting to write.  
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment and let me know! (If you already have on the old version of this chapter, please don't feel obliged to do so again lmao)  
> xx


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